Gut Reaction
by Carylfan84
Summary: World's gone to hell and he's playing quotable quotes with the voices in his head. Merle. Milton. Smidgen of Caryl. Fix it fic/AU for the end of season 3.


So, I had an idea where Merle and Milton survived Woodbury. Merle wouldn't stop yapping about it. Spoilers through the end of season 3.

"Gut Reaction"

He ain't gonna lie to himself about his odds. He ain't begging Jesus neither, thank you sonny Jim. They're all watching him, all whispering around the periphery. Some think he's putting them further in danger, too wounded to move even though this is the third time they've been forced to do so. Some wonder why his baby brother didn't put a bolt in his brain, injured badly as he is.

All of them have probably wondered why they're wasting supplies on a living dead man. Three fingers left to his name, a giant hole in his gut. Doc Jenner, more a science boy than a true doc, won't even give odds for his survival. He occasionally catches a glimpse of the doc's uppity wife flitting in and out of his cell, trying to lure her man back to their piece of peace. She keeps reminding him that the animal doc has things all under control. She ain't wrong, that. Edwin, and Christ what a pussy name, probably got his head bounced off the asphalt every day of his school career, don't hold a candle in a hurricane to Herschel. Best he go follow the misses for a little down time, enjoy their slice of the hard earned peace.

What peace can be had in this place. He ain't supposed to know; but Officer Friendly has taken the Nubian and his baby brother to go finish what Woodbury started. He is the most critically injured of "their" people. A damned miracle all things considered. That's why he gets the company of both the doc who ain't a real doc and the vet who's more a doc than the doc.

Woodbury wasn't so lucky. He saw them carting the bodies out when Officer Friendly and baby brother were carting his worthless hide back in. A third of their abled bodied? Hell, maybe as much as half? Ice sucking pansies playing at southern comfort. No where near a match to a battle hardened group. One or two soft souls left among them, and those are the kids. Even the mouse strides past his cell with the gait of a valkyrie.

She makes another pass. Then another. Her uneasiness is rolling his way in waves. Probably wants to make good on her threat about him not hurting Darlyna. Maybe. Fuck, who knows with that broad. Velvet sheathed blade, that one. Watch yo back, little brother.

He ain't stupid, despite what he shows them all. Him and Daryl's been hiding it long enough, most likely better read than three-fourths of these people. Didn't do them no good back when they was growing up. Ain't gonna do them no good now. Knowing the true intention of Cogito Ergo Sum, and how these pricks got it all wrong with the bastardized version, ain't gonna stave off the infection he'll likely die of.

Eh, maybe not. Phillip wasn't ever good with a knife. Liked to use it, but had to use it multiple times to get it right for sure. He'd gotten, what, one or two strokes in before the sound of Daryl's engine had sent him running? If that self styled Caesar gotten anything too vital he reckons he'd be dead by now. Keeping an infection at bay is gonna be the biggest issue.

The uppity bitch is back. Not saying anything, not yet at least. Tapping her foot, sighing, hand permanently stuck on the luscious swell of her hips. Never been a big fan of miscegenation, but he'll give the doc his due. End of the world and all, can't be too picky. Sides, if he's remembering correctly she was a feisty little thing. Bet it's got a big carry over.

He wants to ask if she fucks like she fights, but he's smart enough not to. Got a better developed survival mechanism than his track record would indicate. Just cause he's got a taste for the wide open sky, blue as aquamarine, don't actually mean he's got a death wish.

Well, most of the time. Getting punch drunk in a vehicle surrounded by walkers, rocking out to his tunes, psyching himself up to go confront his homicidal former boss; badass boast or dumbest fucking thing he's ever done? You decide, kids. He's leaning on the latter. Which is abso-fucking-lutely amazing considering he once got into a Mexican standoff over that god damned Spongebob shit.

It was funny, in hindsight, to watch Daryl nearly wet himself.

He kidna wonders where the little sissy is. Figures they woulda been back sooner than this. How hard is it to kill one or two assholes and call it a day? Unless, and wouldn't this just be the whipped cream, nuts, and cherry on the shit sundae that is existence, Mr High-and-fucking-mighty decided to go all Hiroshima on what remained of the Woodburians.

That thought doesn't please him as much as it should. Mrs Mcleod didn't do nothing to no one. Saved mosta her sunday school class. He remembers her coming to the gates with those bedraggled kids. Remembers thinking god has a soft spot for small children and idiots. And, well, he's alive now ain't he?

The damned Chine- Korean kid and the farmer's daughter are talking with the mouse turned valkyrie. He can almost see her wings spreading out in agitation. Damn, he must be farther gone than he thought.

They're worried about the bodies. Something about the bodies. No, not the bodies in the tombs or the courtyard. More bodies. Struggling to comprehend what they mean. More bodies...out in the road? Maybe? He doubts they would bring their kill back here to burn it if they were talking about the little uns and old folk stashed back at Woodbury.

Least, he hopes they are. Wouldn't put it past Philip to just embrace bug fuck nuts and cull those he considered useless. Not a one of them was spotted in the skirmish. Just some of the teenagers, poor bastards. Heard one of them took a round to the face, courtesy of the Sheriff's spawn. Kid he wouldn't even fucking train, fraid his damned asthma would get them all killed out on runs, and this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper, can I get an amen?

Which is why it makes him a might bit uncomfortable when he notices the twerp watching him. Waiting. Waiting to see what's going on? Or waiting for a chance to practice his own version of pragmatism?

Wagner starts up in his noggin when the battle maiden shoos the twerp away. Fuck, what kinda drugs are they giving him? Or is he just really that far fucking down the rabbit hole? Hello Alice, can I join you for tea?

At least he understand now, or thinks he does, why she's making these rounds. Little brother musta put her on Merle sitting duty. Fuck but the mighty have fallen.

"I think it would be a good idea if you boys got some sleep." She's half in and half out of his door, looking as much at him as she is at the good doctors. "You two are exhausted. Merle is stable. You know Jacqui's not going to bed without you, Edwin. We don't know what the others will bring back from there."

She says "there" like the word itself has a bad flavor. He figures she's fretting for Blondie. They all are. But, no, she is the nurturing type now ain't she? Might she be on his wave length over Woodbury fears? And lo the fragile are made prey for the strong, the innocent are devoured. Rebekkah wept, and would not be comforted, for her children were no more.

Her commands are obeyed without question. Oh ho, ain't this some fun now. Little brother seemed to have gotten hisself a predator disguised as a housepet. Ghost of a movie, something he ain't seen in ages. Fuck me sideways; in the name of the father, and the son, and the holy ghost can I get an amen? World's gone to shit and he's playing quotable quotes with the voices in his head. The ghost and the darkness are at the gates and Tsavo knows not how to keep them out. Open your maw, boys, and I'll walk right in. Can I get an amen, can I get an amen!

He knows he's slipping. Oh fuck, but he knows. Wonders if he's got enough time left in him to say goodbye to his heterosexual lifemate. Brain all jumbled up, eggshell bits on the bottom of the frying pan, won't be long now. Pass the plate, baby, preacher man's got a habit and why the hell not cause how else is he supposed to hear God? Can I get an amen, chittlins?

"Couldn't wait ta get me all to yourself, sweetcheek? Can't say I as much blame ya. I love the boy, but Daryl is still a little wet in the britches." He tries to flick his tongue suggestively and gets it caught in the tacky bits at the corner of his mouth. Shoulda asked for a drink. Hell, shoulda asked for a drink when they brought his ass back in here. Tries to remember how long it takes a sick person to die of dehydration. Now wouldn't that be ironic? World gone to hell and he dies of stubbornness.

And, well, damn. The bitch won't even dignify him with a response. Jumping on Daryl like he's the last chopper outta Saigon but won't give ole Merle no looksee. Ain't that just the way the world fucking goes. Fucking shame, that. End of the world's done her a lot of good. All these other uppity bitches fading as the sunset of civilization hits, and baby brother had to pick hisself out a moonflower. Adversity that makes other women wilt has caused her to go full bloom. Can I touch your petals, baby? Promise I won't pluck too hard.

There's a ladle in her hand now, probably gonna brain him. He wonders if she'll tell Daryl it was self defense? Or maybe that he turned first and she was just putting him down? Nah, too classy a broad for shit like that. She owns her shit, history bought and paid; past, present, and future. Ask me no questions, oh yeah, oh yeah, and I'll tell you no lies. And the band starts to play. Playing to the cheap seats. Oh yeah, oh yeah, drum beats louder. Don't ask questions you don't want an answer to. Can I get an amen?

Closer now. Closer now. Tendrils of eternity, baby, can you feel them too? Hallelujah, grandma's got the vapors in a backwoods church. Mama's mama teaching him hate in the name of god's love. Do whatever she says, Merle, mama's head hurts. Gotta learn young to hate himself, oh yeah, can I get an amen. God forbid, and yes he does. Just enough religion to make that ole woman hate, but not enough to make her love. Drum beats louder, preacher man is crying out in rapture. Pass the plate, pass the plate, or god'll smite you.

He wonders, briefly, if god sent them walkers cause he wouldn't put an extra fiver in the plate when he could spare it.

Soon. Soon. Frozen fire in his veins. Shivering from the sweat. Metal at his mouth. The ladle, precious water. The valkyrie's wings are blocking the overhead light. Does baby brother know what you are, battle maiden? Are you ready yet? It is time? Gonna help my soul cross over like you did Mr Yo?

The world runs on irony. Daryl saving his ass in that field. A day ago, two? Buying him a little more time to get right with god. And fuck that self righteous pussy, what has god ever done for him? And here he's gonna go anyway, with no Daryl in sight. Just her, whatever she is. Is he imagining this all? Can't be, can it? Preacher man never told us nothing about nothing about things like you, baby.

Head's on all wrong. He needs, lord knows he needs. His other half ain't here and if he don't get here soon he's gonna miss the big finale. 76 bloody trombones, baby, oh yeah, oh yeah.

Probably baking in the Georgia sun, seeing those tendrils of eternity. All wrapped up in them, no time no more for ole Merle, soothing as a mother's lullaby. Don't you do that! Don't you quit on me! Ain't time to go yet, baby; we gotta wait for our drinks. You started it, oh yes you did, didn't know what you were starting but you started it. Just cause I finished it doesn't mean you didn't start it, oh yeah, oh yeah.

Fuck, the look she's giving him. He thinks she might just be able to read what's going on in his cracked skull. Damn, damn, now that ain't good. And that ain't possible. Course, stranger things have happened. Jesus, just Jesus, that ain't right.

Tip the bartender, baby, and call a cab. I think I might just head home without you.

There's a commotion in the corridor. Which isn't all that surprising. These people can't get a splinter without causing some kind of damned ruckus about it. Honey I'm home and I've had a hard day.

Blondie's being led past his cell. Well lookit that, they did get her. Good for them he supposes. They ain't never been the best of buds but that don't mean he wanted ole Philip to slice an dice her pretty little head. Nubian on one side, Officer Friendly on the other. Both of them giving her looks that make him wanna bray. Too sore and dried out to get out more than a scratched up chuckle. Gonna spend a long time on yo back, baby, playing Blondie in the middle.

Twerp is somewhere down the corridor, kicking shit. Officer Friendly musta done something to piss ole sonny boy off. Well, go on kid. Make you feel any better, does it? Keep on kicking away in futility but keep it away from me, amen, amen.

Science boy and farmer stumptacular, and who is he to say anything about anyone's damned stump, are rushing back his way. But not for him, no not for him. Praise the lord and pass the plate. Somebody got done fucked up, oh yes indeedy, that much is clear. And he's just made himself so cosy in sick bay that he's gonna share his burrow with the poor bastard.

It's a face he knows, this he'll swear on his spectacular testicles. Managed to even keep the boy scout's glasses. Musta got in a bitch fight with the would be king of Woodbury, cause there's that same hole in the gut.

And ain't that just a kicker. Bring out your dead. I didn't mean to leave you, baby. Just come back to me, be okay, I promise this time it'll be different. Just keep breathing and I'll make it alright.

He's hearing them, the good doctors. Surprise is coloring every other word they say. "Remarkably stable". "Just in time". "It's a miracle, this is the thing faith is made of."

Gotta agree with you there, farm boy. The lord can be vast in his mercies. Hallelujah. Can I get an amen? Can I get an amen!

Junior scientist is asking the doctors something. Too low for him to hear. Poor bitch must be every level of fucked up. And the looks they're giving him. What the fuck did he ask for? Looking at their clean cut goodie twoshoe and then looking at him.

Oh. Oh!

"Why don't you bring that wuss over here. He an I need to have a lil talk, yes we do. Promise I won't bite him. Yet." He's well aware macabre humor can get you in a lot of trouble down this way. But in his case, it pays off. His little cottontail is nodding his head as much as he can. And they don't look like they'll argue about it too much.

They've got some new Mr Yo, calling him down here to help them move the patient. Pushing the beds together. Looking like they're all about to bust their brains wide open. Let em talk. Let em guess. Truth is stranger than fiction, baby. You'll dismiss it cause it seems less likely than the dead walking the earth. Fun times, children.

It takes a minute, more than a minute, but finally they're gone. Gotta check out the other injured. Make sure Blondie is okay. And the pregnant lady, what was that bitch's name, might be going into labor. Ain't we having some fun now, boys and girls?

Just him and his cottontail, lying here like injured bunnies. Nice. Weird, but nice. Shades of things left unsaid about Woodbury. Things kept in the darkness for fear of the light. Agreed upon, necessary, but unpleasant in the secrecy.

"I didn't mean ta leave without ya," he croaks out. His voice is calmer. His head is starting to clear. He's pretty sure he hasn't felt this good since the picnic. Was that a week ago? More? Less? It doesn't matter, he can finally breathe again.

Milton Mamet presses against him as much as he can, which is a lot considering they both must stay on their backs due to twin wounds to the abdomen. "I know."

And for a moment, there is silence.


End file.
